


Faithful in My Own

by ToriBeth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, sherlock is alone and john makes it better, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 02:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2133426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriBeth/pseuds/ToriBeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a popular target for bullies and knows from past experience that those who try to befriend him become victimised as well. Even fully informed, John Watson refuses to back down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faithful in My Own

**Author's Note:**

> So I kinda sorta know where I'm going with this but I've never been the best at keeping schedules but I will try to keep the tags updated. I don't plan on this becoming too extensive but I've seen how these things go- you plan for three chapters and it goes on for ten. So no promises.
> 
> Also, I'm still pretty new (this is my second post in two/three days) so be gentle.
> 
> Any mistakes are all mine- Sherlock doesn't belong to me- blah blah blah
> 
> Oh, and TW for mentions of attempted suicide in the next chapter, so if you don't want to read that, don't let my stunning first chapter pull you in too deeply.
> 
> Enjoy!!!

The day had been a particularly dull one for Sherlock, and he found a small solace out on the school grounds. He had discovered the perfect hideaway under large tree on the back side of the grounds. The only students who ever ventured back here were members of the horticulture club, and they hardly ever deviated from the footpath leading to and from the main campus.

The tree was old, with thick roots that formed the perfect seat for Sherlock to spend hours reading books on chemistry and forensics. Another advantage was that even if someone did look over to his hiding place, unless they were near enough for Sherlock to see, the trunk was thick enough in diameter to hide him from view. The perfect sanctuary from his antagonistic classmates.

Finding a place of his own to retreat to had become not only a necessity but also a herculean task. First had been the library and when they found him there he tried unused classrooms, then odd places around campus like the balcony seats in the theatre and a supply closet in the computer labs. At first it seemed his tormentors were happening upon him and taking advantage of the opportunity to harass their least favorite class mate. Quickly, this morphed into a vicious game of hide and seek in which the first one to find him was rewarded with the first blows.

It seemed he had finally won, though, tucked away in the further, most isolated corner of the world. Perfect. At least for now.

When the sun dipped behind the tree line and the pleasant coolness in the air developed into a biting chill, Sherlock packed the books and notes back into his satchel. 

Campus was always best at night, Sherlock thought. Quiet, still, no one to shout insults across the quad, or butt into him on purpose. Even the walk back home was peaceful and he found himself pausing to watch the nocturnal wildlife awaken, content at a leisurely pace despite the coolness. 

There wasn’t any reason to hurry, he thought wryly, if anyone was at home they were far too busy with their respective activities to bother worrying about him. In fact, Sherlock suspected his mother and father actively didn’t think about him. He was a growing, incontrolable tarnish on their spotless reputation and the less attached they allowed themselves to be in his adolescence, the easier it would be to disown him when he inevitably did something too extreme. Or at least that was Sherlock’s theory.

The only person who didn’t seem consider him an entirely lost cause was his elder brother. For years the two had been homeschool together, constant companions and best friends, even with Mycroft being seven years his senior. He had indulged Sherlock’s hunger for knowledge when their tutor deemed topics like anatomy and foreign languages, too morbid or advanced. Sherlock absolutely adored him for it. 

Mycroft was also the one to read him stories until he slept, or to comfort him when his brain just wouldn’t stop. He introduced Sherlock to sheet music and taught him to read it. Once, he even let Sherlock mark him all over with names of bones a organs. But then, Mycroft turned sixteen and their parents decided it was time for their boys to make friends.

With the introduction to children his own age, Mycroft had become as intolerable as the rest of them. Always schmoozing ‘friends of the family’- which Sherlock quickly learnt meant offspring of business associates -and trying to get him to do the same. Mycroft quickly ran out of time to do much of anything with Sherlock, though he rarely managed to set aside half and hour after dinner to help him with his homework (not that Sherlock needed it, but he enjoyed their time together, nonetheless).

The final straw came when Mycroft moved away to University and all but severed communication with his family. He visited at Christmases and birthdays, or at least he attended the outrageous parties their parents threw for their millions of partners and potential investors. Besides those and the occasional, vague group email he sent quarterly, there was nothing. 

Sherlock grimaced, scaling the lattice work that covered the outside of the house under his window and recounted their meeting at the last soiree his parents had forced him to attend. Mycroft had found him in the garden, as far away from the revelry as possible, reading a college biochemistry textbook.

Sherlock heard him coming up the path for several seconds, certainly enough time to hide, but had enjoyed the thought of ignoring whatever advice his brother had come to force upon him Additionally, if he wait long enough he may be given the perfect opportunity to dig at Mycroft’s extremely apparent weight-gain.

Mycroft had stood in front of him for several seconds, waiting to be acknowledged, and when Sherlock did little more than flip a page, he sighed heavily and sat down beside him. “You should be inside with the others Sherlock.”

Sherlock ground his teeth, but otherwise acted as if unaware he had company.

“If anything you should be getting over this unbecoming fear you have of socializing with your peers,” Mycroft’s tone now took on a slight agitation and general know-it-all tone. “It is a common fear, but enabling it will not help you in the long run. You may think you are too different from them to overcome the chasm you have created, but rest assured, brother dear, you have more in common with them than you think. I am speaking from experience, mind-”

At those words Sherlock had felt a deep simmer of fury. It wasn’t him who thought he was different, it was them. He had tried sharing interests with his classmates, had tried tutoring them and pointing out their mistake. And for his trouble he had been laughed at, looked at with disgust, shoved around, and called plebian insults like ‘nerd’ and ‘freak’. Oh, no, it wasn’t him who had created the chasm, it was them.

In the next moment, Sherlock realized he was alone on his side. Mycroft was one of them. Maybe not fully- he was even more intelligent than Sherlock, had an eidetic memory, and terrifying cache of knowledge on government policies and loopholes -but he wanted to be. Mycroft had created a shell to hide his true self in, presented a mask to the world in order blend in and be accepted into their flock.

To Sherlock, who prided himself on his intellect, this was unforgivable. If he had nothing else in the world, he still had his mind. A weapon of his own design that no one could control or take away from him. And his brother, more gifted than himself, was shoving all of it down in order to seem normal. 

Suddenly he had slammed the text book closed a vaulted off of the bench. “You disgust me,” Sherlock sneered down at the person he had once admired more than any other. “Those people in there are dull, boring, morons whose sole purpose in life is to kiss the highest-ranking ass in hope of one day being the ass everyone wants to kiss. All they want is money, and more is never enough. They’re bored with their lives so they get together and throw parties like this one to try and stave back the inevitable void that will one day cause them put a bullet through their unimaginative little brains. You may be aspire to be one of them, Mycroft, but do not think for one infinitesimal second I will ever deign to that level, ignorant fatarse.”

Mycroft has been so shocked at this outburst he didn’t think to reprimand his brother’s foul language until Sherlock had already escaped upstairs. 

That was conversation had finally given voice to the turmoil of his existence. His peers, his parents, even his beloved brother would not accept him and he was and refused to be anything other . So what if those droll imbeciles didn’t accept him? He didn’t need them. He would carve out his own spot in this miserable world, find a place no one else could stand, high above masses. 

But until then he had to survive living amongst them. So with a dull dread he had become all too accustomed to, Sherlock switched off the lights and settled in for a sleepless night..

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always welcome-  
> -as are messages on tumblr!   
> i'm gladstoneof221b, feel free to drop by and say hello <3
> 
> Title comes from Emily Bronte's Honour's Martyr and chapter title from her poem The Two Children which is Sherlock and John all over so I may keep pulling chapter titled from it...


End file.
